


Somewhere there is music

by fate_and_fervor



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aether Connection, Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst, Angst and Feels, Bard Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Canon Compliant, Emet-Selch is sassy and tired, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Flashbacks, Implied Sexual Content, Memories, Mid-Canon, Musical soul bonds, Past Lives, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), but also not okay, does not change the ending though, honestly the soul stuff is kind of spicy, implied soul sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fate_and_fervor/pseuds/fate_and_fervor
Summary: "As scraps of the hero’s aether traced across his own aetherial defenses, Emet-Selch found himself wrestling with his own curiosity.  Perhaps, he mused, this would offer him a rare opportunity to gain more insight on his ultimate prize - the warrior on which all his meticulous plans turned. If she was going to mindlessly fling her soul about for anyone to see the least he could do was take a little peek. And beside it wasn’t like she would know what to do with his soul if she could somehow reach back"---After slaying the Lightwarden at the Qitana Ravel, Emet-Selch challenges the Warrior of Light to show off her talents as a bard. But when her music starts reminding him of his long lost home and tragic history, Emet-Selch must wrestle with the unexpected consequences of memories long forgotten.
Relationships: 14th Member of the Convocation of Fourteen/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Original Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Somewhere there is music

**Author's Note:**

> Long time reader, first time poster! Hope everyone enjoys reveling in my post shadowbringers angst!

It was after the Warrior of Darkness slew the Lightwarden at the heart of the Qitana Ravel. Overjoyed at the return of night and the flight of the Eulmoran soldiers nothing would do for the members of Night Blessed but to throw the scions a feast. 

The party had started with a civilized meal and speeches to the health and heroism of the Warrior of Darkness. As the night grew darker and the wine flowed more easily, the party had turned to a full on celebration filled with harrowing legends of the First, spirited dancing and good natured mock battles and shows of strength. 

Now the feast was winding down as they approached the first hour of night. Most of the participants had taken to their beds, with a tiny contingent of Night’s Blessed and scions remaining. A matched pair of Elezens, one large and the other small murmured to each other as they shared the remnants of their dessert. Next to them, the tiny oracle dozed, her body slumped familiarly against her bodyguard, the larger Hyur’s hand protectively on his charges head as he nursed a cup. The white haired Miqo'te was deep in discussion with the larger dark haired Hrothgar - her sightless eyes seeing nothing and yet everything all at once. 

And at the center of it all - a lone ascian on his third cup of wine.  
  
Emet-Selch grimaced as he took another swig from his earthen-ware mug. The beverage made by Night’s Blessed was spiced and heady - certainly an acquired taste, but it did get the job done. And after the day he had nothing would do but to get pleasantly drunk. 

It had been a long one, filled with adventuring and insufferable heroism, all things he often did his best to actively avoid. And at the end of it he had shared the knowledge of Hydaelyn’s startling origins. At least that was marginally entertaining. Once the scions had picked their jaws off the cave floor and processed the idea that their _perfect, benevolent_ and _wondrous_ ‘mother’ might be a hated primal, he eagerly had observed them internalize the information and consider what it might mean for their precious shard. 

_Good_ . _Let them stew in their own uncertainties._ While they dithered and debated, he would slowly move his pieces on the board until the game was won right under their noses. All that remained was to wait, while his best pawn continued her quest inexorably toward the world’s impending destruction. Bringing the nearly empty cup to his lips, he let his eyes slide across the fire to her. 

The warrior of light sat with the male Elezen twin - Master Alphinaud he recalled. The boy seemed to be unaffected by the late hour, speaking animatedly to the hero. She was listening amicably while her hands moved over the strings of a small harp. The instrument had been a recent gift, a token from a smiling Night Blessed child, a prize for bringing back their precious night. She smiled at Alphinaud as he continued to regale her with some, albeit pointless, theories on the ruins they had discovered earlier, her fingers plucking notes here and there with no particular theme in mind. 

Watching her hands play gracefully over the harp reminded Emet-Selch all too vividly of them earlier, white knuckled on her bow as she sank arrow after arrow into the animalistic Lightwarden of the Ravel. She was a study in contradiction, this warrior of both light and darkness. A fierce warrior and focused artist. A dichotomy, that despite his better judgement fascinated Emet-Selch in a way that few mortals had in centuries. 

For starters, she was incredibly small in stature. When they had first officially met in the Ocular he had to struggle to keep a straight face. Here was the great eikon slayer, murderer of Lahabrea yet she didn’t even reach his shoulder? Surely this had to be some sort of cosmic jest. Her features were delicate - a slight nose, small mouth and drawn graceful brows. Traits much more suited to a gentle artist, although he had witnessed her face contort into fearsome expressions when she squared off with a foe (or scolded the insufferable male Hyur on his manners) 

The next surprise came with her breadth of her knowledge. He wasn’t sure if he had expected the famed warrior of light to be an uncivilized brute, accustomed only to primal destruction and abject heroism. But she was quite educated on all manner of topics - Eorzean politics, craftsmanship, even botany. During their travels, Emet-Selch had heard her speaking at length to the elezen twins as about the flora of the Great Wood- eyes sparkling as she regarded a particularly beautiful blossom or branch. 

Her eyes... If he was honest with himself it was the eyes that set him most edge - they were a deep golden color, faintly luminous in her dark face. The color, unnatural for her kind, reminded him too much of the colors of his lost brethren. And when she looked at him he could almost feel--

A tingle pricked up his spine, an entirely mortal feeling Emet Selch was _not_ fond of. He realized that she had turned her golden gaze on him, as if she could feel the weight of his traitorous thoughts. The elezen boy had finally stopped talking as well, frowning a bit as he tracked his compatriots line of sight to the Ascian. Emet-Selch, caught staring, opened his mouth and said the first thing that came to his mind

“You know Warrior - I was just thinking, We have traveled all this time together, and I do not think I have yet heard you play anything cohesive on your harp.” He leaned forward grinning slightly. “In fact, I’m not even sure if you are capable of stringing together a single melody.” 

Golden eyes blinked at him, considering. Beside her, the young Elezen flushed and spluttered. “I’ll have you know our _friend_ here is one of the most sought after bards in Eorzea - she’s composed songs for the high lords of Ishgard, sang enemies into allies, even performed multiple times for the Sultana herself--” 

“It’s alright, Alphinaud,” Alphinaud’s hot lecture was stalled by the Warrior of Light placing a hand on his arm. “I believe our new friend was only teasing.” Eyes locking on Emet-Selchs again she inclined her head gracefully. “I would be happy to play for you. Is there something particular you had in mind?” 

Emet-Selch reclined back on his stone seat - the picture of an indolent patron “Whatever comes to your mind dear warrior. I am of a mind to just listen to some music to while away the time.” 

The hero of Eorzea closed her eyes - a small furrow appearing between her brows. Her hands hovered over the harp, adjusting positions as she considered what to play. A hush fell upon the few remaining party goers. Heads began to turn and watch as she began her work. 

At first the notes were hesitating as she searched for her tune, but they picked up speed when she found the melody. It was a cheery and sweet round - a joyous song of celebration infused with a sense of home and heart. Begrudgingly, Emet-Selch had to admit, the bard’s skill was no jest.  
  
As her hands danced across the strings, he felt the stirring of her aether, drawn forth by the music. It began to spill around her in controlled waves, lapping against the souls of all who listened to her tune. _Ah but of course,_ Emet-Selch thought _she is a true bard after all._

He had always been fascinated with the bards of Eorzea - those rare warrior musicians who fought with harp and bow. Using music as a conduit for their aether, crafting songs to rally or defend their comrades; it had always reminded him of some of his favorite work in the Akadaemia Anyder. The art of turning music into magic wasn’t far removed from spinning thought into creation. And he had always been partial to music since _she --_  
  
_No_. He shook himself. It had been quite some time since he had let his thoughts dwell on home. Even after centuries of working towards his ultimate goal he had found it harder and harder to remember the specifics of Amaurat. There were so many years worth of memories now, all crowding in his mind that he hadn’t realized what he had lost until it was too late. And, if he was honest, there were some memories he himself had hastened into buried oblivion. 

Preferring not to indulge that particular thought, he cast his eyes instead to the audience enjoying the bard’s lively composition. It was likely that most listeners wouldn’t notice the bard’s ambient aether beyond a pleasant feeling, one which could easily be written off as the side effects of a skilled musician’s tune. But for an Ascian - and he suspected the white haired Miqo'te mage as well - tracking the flow of aether from all things was as easy as breathing. 

As scraps of the hero’s aether traced across his own aetherial defenses, Emet-Selch found himself wrestling with his own curiosity. Perhaps, he mused, this would offer him a rare opportunity to gain more insight on his ultimate prize - the warrior on which all his meticulous plans turned. If she was going to mindlessly fling her soul about for anyone to see the least he could do was take a little peek. And beside it wasn’t like she would know what to do with his soul if she could somehow reach back. 

Curiosity beating caution, he lowered his aetherial defenses, letting the small motes of the hero’s soul brush against his own. They were warm, and comforting - small fragments of joy that popped and fizzed against his own immense darkness. Each one held a memory that flashed before his mind’s eye, pictures of the bard’s past and imagined future, the imagery she drew on to weave her musical magics: images of lush windswept cliffs and ancient tribes; a dark hand traced a path across a star studded sky; the soft feathers of a great bird as a smiling Auri woman leaned in for a kiss. 

_Dull, Dull, Dull - oh how immensely dull._ He flicked through the warriors happy memories of home and contentment one right after the other. It was all rather mundane really, and Emet-Selch had to squash a small feeling of disappointment. He was not sure what he hoped to find in the legendary hero’s soul, but it certainly wasn’t this mindless contented drivel. 

Still...sifting through these open earnest images of a beloved home, feeling her happiness tempered with the hint of bittersweet wistfulness for what she had left behind, it opened doors in his mind. In spite of his better judgement, he once again found his own mind turning to thoughts of Amaurot. 

How long had it been since he had even dared dream of home? Years of deception and deceit. Centuries of rebuilding, recalculating and relearning his own mortal faces. When had the flesh of Solus los Galvus begun to feel more like home to him? He was so tired, so weary of plans and games and these star-blasted scions always scowling at him with undisguised suspicion. Why keep going when every star rejoined was just another painful milenia of scheming come to horrible bloody fruition? 

Short sweet notes began to elongate and drop from a jaunty tune into something far more yearning. The bard’s images of home were replaced in his mind, green cliffs traded for golden streets, great birds for glittering towers. Bright lights and hooded figures calling his name. _This. This was why he struggled_ \- for a home that couldn’t be forgotten, for friends who had been lost. For a partner he couldn’t bear to remember 

The vision swam before him, fading from his mind’s eye. Weakly he reached for it, desperate to keep it from receding back into the confines of his own subconscious. The memories were sweet but painful too - it was why he had buried them long ago - preferring to leave only anger and determination to fuel his eon long struggle. But in this moment, with the warriors song of home and heartache moving through him he pushed himself forward, aching to remember. 

Then the bard began to sing. And he was home. 

Flowing on the verse, memories settled into place - familiar weights he hadn’t dared dream in so long. It was in the greenhouse at the Akademia, long before sundering and stars. When he bore no titles or false names. He was just an adjunct professor, called out of his study by a lilting melody that had captivated him for weeks on end. 

He walked as if he was in a dream, his feet tapping against the cobblestone paths in time to the song that wove through the entire vision. The greenhouse was a prized creation space, only awarded to tenured faculty members. The plants that filled it were both lovely and strange - but they were not the subject of this professor’s work. 

On most days the structure was filled with a motley assortment of sound - a cacophony of tunes and half composed melodies. Even with doors closed and barriers erected it leaked into surrounding classrooms, causing students to snicker and professors to increase the volume of their lectures. But tonight the song was sweet and full, the work of many weeks of experimentation and composition fully realized. He was shocked more people were not out to hear it, in spite of the late hour and previous annoyances.  
  
At the center of the greenhouse was a small space cluttered with books, plants and a flurry of papers. Many instruments were strewn about, each an iteration on the other, slowly moving towards the final piece - a small carved object studded with delicate strings. It sat in the hands of a young woman, unmasked, her face deep in concentration as she played the instrument in her lap. With each twist and stroke of her ink-stained hands she was bringing forth beautiful and haunting sounds, accompanied by her own low voice singing complement to her composition. 

_“Hades,_ ” she sang, her voice reverberating like music in his mind. But ah - it had always been music to his ears when she spoke his name from the first moment he had heard her teaching on creation theorems in the Akademia. 

He had flowers, pale white blooms mixed with sprigs of greenery. It was a new Amoratine fashion observed when confessing admiration. A rather pointless gesture he was starting to realize as she looked at him consideringly, surrounded by the myriad of plants she had created.  
  
_“Hades,”_ she breathed, bemused as he flushed at the intimacy and amusement she shared with his mind.

 _“I would give you the stars,”_ he murmured, offering the blossoms to her, opening his soul so she could read his intent.

A smile and her laugh - the perfect refrain that had haunted his heart for eons, long after the echoes of Amaurot had faded from the universe. Measured stances - moments as notes on the page. Her hands setting the harp down as she lifted his mask, tracing around his golden eyes and pulling him close. Her lips finding his own as she whispered, _“You already have, love, you already have.”_ _  
_

Reeling Emet-Selch hurled his mind’s eye from the vision. The memory scorching in its clarity, painful in its recollection throbbed white hot in his subconscious. Something was very, _very_ wrong. He had buried that moment, sunk it deep into his mind and covered it with layers of schemes and dark intent. To have them surface now, raw and unfiltered -- 

He looked again at the warrior in front of him. Her aether was no longer lazily pooling around her listeners, but flowing inexorably towards his. With each strum of her instrument it surged forward, passing beyond his lowered barriers and pushing into his soul. Whatever it found there it took; spinning memory and moment into music, coating him anew with his own haunting recollections. 

How was this possible? Soul bonds were high magic, In Amarot they had only been used between matched pairs, the level of intimacy involved in sharing souls unlike any mortal coupling. As far as he knew the Eorzeans hadn’t begun to scratch the surface of it in their entire living memory. So how could the bard even know what she was doing? 

The expression on the warrior’s face was concentrated, only her drawn brows betraying any confusing thoughts. And yet the music still flowed from her harp, catching Emet-Selch and threatening to toss him overboard in a sea of unwanted memories and _feelings_. 

A particularly powerful surge of aether accompanied her latest chord and he groaned at the contact. Zodiark help him but it felt _good._ It had been so long since he had taken another’s aether into himself, savored the tantalizing feeling of another’s soul on his. 

Aghast he threw his will into his own aether, grabbing the warriors invading power and trying to wrestle it away from his own. The contact was terribly intimate - his soul grappling with hers in a literal meeting of the minds. When he brought his own power to bear against hers he found a strong will behind it. Gone were the contented images of the Azure Steppe. Instead he found a maelstrom of thoughts and feelings, a muddied mix of sensations and song that spun him around and hurled him head first into another memory. 

_“Hades!_ ” she sang - and he turned. She was striding over to him in her white robes with two glasses in her hand, her unique Convocation mask fixed in place. 

They were in the Capitol chambers this time, surrounded by their peers. It was a celebration of sorts, reserved only for Convocation members. He had never been able to attend one - even as her paramour. But now in his new robes and a badge of office affixed to his chest, the situation had changed. 

_“Or need I refer to you by your title now, oh Architect of Amourat.”_ She stopped before him and issued a bow, arm across her chest. She looked up at him as she straightened, mask unable to hide her grin. _“The great Emet-Selch, Truth-bringer. Savior of the Ascians.”_ With each word she let a wisp of humor and teasing brush against his soul. 

He flushed beneath his new mask - her flirtatious tone always making him eager to dance to her tune. 

_“Try to contain your abject favoritism, hmm?”_ That was Elidipus - his measured tones and organized mind always lending order to their meetings _“What you do outside this room is your business - but here you are expected to continue to uphold the best interests of the council. That means debate and deliberation - not just mindless agreement.”_

 _“Oh just try to stop them from bickering,”_ Hythlodaeus laughed as he walked over to clap a hand on Hades’s shoulder. “You don’t share a living space wall with them. All they do is argue long into the night.” He let a hint of humor and sarcasm touch the minds of all those listening “ Our newest member is quite…vocal in his counter-protests.”   
  
_“Enough!!”_ Hades interjected, before Hythlodaeus could share specific memories of his ‘enthusiastic arguements.’ 

_“Between the_ fervent _discussions and endless musical experimentation, I haven’t been able to get much rest at all,”_ Hythlodaeus whined. _“I would have thought you would be done with the composition by now - but perhaps you are spending too much time indulging your muse.”_

Hades frowned. It was the first time he had heard of any new song. He sent an inquisitive thought in her direction as she lightly struck Hythlodaeus on the arm. 

_“I can’t trust you with anything, Hytho!”_ She glanced back at Hades, her own mind sending him an enigmatic and chagrined thought: _All things will be revealed in due course._  
  
_“Enough with this - we are here to celebrate, are we not?”_ She raised her glass, eyes earnest behind her mask. _“To Emet-Selch , our newest member!”_

Memories and melody surged, promising to show him days of council meetings and deliberation. That had been the beginning of it all, when he stopped letting himself just be Hades - repeating his title as an endless refrain of the weight now affixed to his shoulders. But instead he found himself fixated on the evening after his appointment. The hot and balmy night when she had finally played her newest composition for him. 

Divested of mask and ceremonial robes he watched her sit before him hands dancing across the strings of her lute. With each note came whispers of her own thoughts, her pride at his appointment , joy for their mutual success and underneath it all a permeating and aching affection that had no name. Her song was somehow both music and magic melded together in a way they had only speculated about in their early days at the Akademia. A dream finally realized by her hard work and shared first with him alone. 

She hadn’t finished that song the first time she had played it. He had been far too eager to interrupt her at a lull in the music - the sound dissolving into an older one of their own shared composition. But he had heard it again and again played for him after long days of council debates and academic work. It became less of a melody and more of the cadence of their lives together - a duet they wove in perfect harmony. 

Until it changed. He knew what came next in this song, even before the melody soured. 

_“Hades.”_ She sung his name again, but this time the notes were harsh and discordant. He couldn’t escape it, the jagged tones raking across his soul. 

It was in her study in the capitol this time, a lush space that could barely contain all her instruments and tomes. He had stormed in to find her writing at her piano - one of the newer instruments she had brought forth in Amaurot. She had hastily collected her music before he could catch a glimpse, turning to glare at his intrusion. 

He had come to her once again to continue an argument - the same argument that had been the subject of their debates both in and out of council rooms. _“It is the only way.”_ He pushed, his mind showing her images of the planet’s decay and sickness. _“I would not sit idly by while our people were destroyed!”_

Rest, step and snap - her feet hit the floor as she stood to face him. _“And you think I want to? You forget I sit on the same council as you Emet-Selch.”_ She spat his title like a curse. 

A perfect harmony upset and unbalanced. A duet played slightly out of time. 

_“Our friends are fools to think their idea is the only way out of this mess.”_ She strode around her desk and stood before him - blazing, powerful, irresistible. “I would have thought you at least would side with me and mine. You arn’t normally so idiotic when it comes to matters of life or death.” 

_“How dare you question my integrity when your own stubborn pride keeps you from seeing reason,”_ he snarled back at her. They locked wills and she gasped when he slid his mind between her guards and pushed his soul at hers, filling their connection with his certainty and desire. 

She struggled against him as he turned her against the desk - but the mutual desire and heat between them was undeniable. 

_“We are doing this,”_ he murmured into her ear, his body heavy against her back _“You can choose to agree or dissent - but there is nothing you can do to prevent a majority.”_

Skin on skin, soul on soul - they had always been good at losing themselves in each other. Even after all these years of working together he still thought the sweetest music she could make was at times like these. The sounds as she came undone beneath his hands and heart. But even connected like this the melody had changed, their duet transforming into something dark and twisted, just like the world around them.

 _“We cannot make love and fix this,”_ she sighed later as she collapsed against him. They had tried he remembered, desperately seeking their relationship’s lost harmony. But in those hazy days at the end of the world there was no more time for singing. 

Memories came unbidden now, frenzied notes in no particular order that carried him through a cacophony of recollection. A long night at the capitol as they had debated the ethics of granting inanimate objects wills of their own. That had been the start of their undoing but they had been too blind to see it. How could he have forgotten her charming expression when she worked through a difficult argument, graceful brows knitted with a small furrow between. 

The day she had left the Convocation - golden eyes flashing as she made her impassioned plea to the council. Blank, emotionless masks surrounded her but still she fought on. Even then he had admired her - as much as he had tried to harden his heart against her, closing his mind from her desperate arguments. But it had still felt like part of him was breaking as she stormed out of the chambers, a contingent of ascians in her wake. 

Lahabrea had laughed that day, just as he had at their bonding ceremony. _Our poor Hades has consigned himself to endless days of debate and study_ , he had said then, raising his glass to the couple. _He certainly picked a fighter._

A fighter... _A warrior._

 _“Hades.”_

A final verse - this time a broken gasp. This was it, the last movement. The music flowed to a crescendo as he saw again the scene before him. It was in her greenhouse, her beautiful plants now wilted and shriveled. He had picked his way through overgrown vines and torn his hands on ragged thorns as he struggled toward the ever growing corona of light at the heart of the structure. 

She sat at an epicenter of destruction, followers and flower petals scattered around her. Both had given their lives up to her, letting their aether fuel her final creation. Whether they had done so willingly or if she had pulled it from them, voraciously demanding all they could give, he never knew. She was singing - the song harsh and powerful as she reached the finale of her creation magics. He reached her just as she threw up her defenses - a crystalline wall of light that blinded and blocked his way. His hands beat a tempo against it as he screamed her name 

_“If you do this,”_ he yelled, his voice cracking on the notes _“I will never forgive you!”_

She met his eyes with her own, unmasked and unafraid _“If I don’t, I will never forgive myself.”_

Her music swelled to a fevered pitch - the final note held with a crystalline clarity that threatened to unknit the world. 

I’ll give you the stars, he had once said. She gave him one. 

How could any song describe the moment he saw her unravel and break - her soul spooling and shattering into the very creation she foolishly thought would save them all? The bard’s voice faltered as his pain spilled from her open lips. A millennium of regret and rage, of desperate work and struggle to save his people. To bring back what was lost in that one awful instance of breaking.

In that moment Ascian and bard were one - strung together on a plucked string, past and present - her voice holding on to that impossible pained note. In that moment he could see her soul laid bare - blinding and bold with all her wants and fears. He knew in that moment her resolution, to walk the path of her star to the very end, even if it meant her own demise. The artistry and the fearsome dedication. A study in contradictions, one that he knew all too well. 

In the heart of the music he finally could recognize her - this familiar soul housed in a strange face. Stars help him, how he had not seen it before - the fractured, broken pieces of her as recognizable to him as his own. And when he had opened himself up to them they had come running, tracing the routes of an old connection long since unused, but impossible to forget no matter how hard he had tried. 

Those golden eyes mirroring her own luminous soul opened to meet his, tears running in rivulets down her cheeks. _Of course,_ he cried to her soul. _Of course it could have only been you_

His lips parted to speak a name he had not spoken in two millenia - an unsung plea for remembrance, acceptance and hope. Surely after all these years of searching and pain, she could give him what he sought.

And then that damned Elezen started clapping. In fact - many of the Night’s Blessed were clapping and hooting. And with a sharp snap, the connection between the two of them was broken. He was alone in his mind, the silence deafening. 

Alphinaud was nearly beside himself as he grabbed the warriors arm. “By the Twelve that was incredible! At first when you started I thought it was going to be one of your usual - not that they are bad by any stretch of the imagination.”  
  
“But then it went places! Fury hold us it was complex and tragic. To think you composed that here all in one sitting - whatever was your inspiration?”  
  
Eyes all turned to look at the warrior who was wiping away shed tears. “I’m not sure,” she finally murmured. “I suppose I just let myself be carried by the music.” She finally looked up, meeting Emet-Selchs gaze. Was there recognition in her eyes? He could not be sure. 

“Well, whatever it was, I’m sure our Ascian friend here can agree it was to his satisfaction.” He turned to look at Emet-Selch “What do you have to say about our bard’s fine work, hmm?” Alphinaud’s smug expression faltered as he noticed the stricken expression on the Ascian’s worn face. 

“It was certainly something,” Emet-Selch snapped, schooling his face into his typical scowl “I suppose it was injust of me to question your talent.” He looked at the bard again, hating himself for continuing to search for some sign of change. Finally he murmured softly “It was beautiful...as always.” 

He abruptly stood ignoring the scions shocked expressions. With a wave of his hand he summoned a portal and stepped into it - vanishing from the woods. 

The scions and warriors blinked at the ascians abrupt departure. “Well, he wasn’t wrong,” Ryne finally broke the silence, striding over with Thancred. “It really was quite a beautiful piece.” 

“So beautiful in fact,” Thancred said as they put a hand on Warrior’s shoulder, “that I think it almost made that damned ascian cry. We should definitely include that in your future musical accolades.” 

The warrior of light had no reply to this, her gold eyes fixed at the spot where the Ascian had vanished moments before, brows furrowed in contemplation. As the remaining party goers drifted off to their beds she remained - hands still on her harp as her thoughts turned and turned through a melody beyond her comprehension. 

* * *

Far away from the wood, deep beneath the seas of the Tempest, an ascian labored on his own composition. Spun from memory, awoken from song with each note he brought forth a new building and specter. Her music had brought back his home, he would not let it be forgotten so easily again. At last he was done and he leaned against the wall of the greenhouse - newly created and lovingly rendered from his own rediscovered recollection. It was a perfect recreation, down to the cluttered workspace and musical paraphernalia strewn about the plants. 

He let his hand trail across the desk, remembering each mark and scar in the wood from hours spent working there, transcribing notes and laughing at half composed melodies. If he closed his eyes he could almost hear her lilting voice singing for him.  
  
_“Hades”_

Finally they came - the tears he hadn’t let himself shed that night. He slid down against the desk and put his head in his hands, his sobs filling the greenhouse, reverberating with the acoustics they had cherished together so long ago. Whether he wept for what he had lost, or what he had gained since then he did not know. 

Tomorrow would be another day, another star shattered and step closer to bringing them home. Somewhere far off there were echoes of a harp and laughter. Sometime else there was a song playing just for him.

Perhaps someday she would remember the music. Perhaps someday they could play it together again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Q__Q 
> 
> Some post fic notes  
> 
> 
>   * I wanted to create something that felt like music when reading it - trying to capture the feeling of being pulled through a melody and experiencing it viscerally! Bards are cool for that since their music is literally magic - and I'm obsessed with the idea of ES & the WoL sharing a connection from their past. So wanted to capture that + music!  
> 
>   * I imagine the Ascian society as kind of a open communal mind space. So they share thoughts and feelings with each other to convey meaning, vs expressions. Since their society largely wears masks this is how they communicate the subtleties of conversation/language instead of reading facial expressions. Not wearing a mask is a vulnerable and intimate act.
>   * I wrestled with Emet-Selch thinking of himself as ES or Hades (since Hades is his actual name) Eventually decided to stick with Emet-Selch since I think he's spent so long feeling the weight of his title and the expectation beyond it - he hasn't really been Hades in a long time. 
>   * Heavily implying the Amouratine WoL invented bard magic ! 
>   * Diverge a little bit from canon with the ending since we are told the city at the bottom of the tempest was made at a different time - but really liked the idea of the music allowing him to bring forth that vibrant and awesome setting in such a cool way! 
> 

> 
> Thank you all for reading!


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